Mallorca
by Flint and Feather
Summary: Humans seriously interfere with Hellboy's lone journey home. He must escape a not so benevolent captivity in time to save the lives of unsuspecting BPRD colleagues. Hellboy & BPRD belong to Mike Mignola & Dark Horse. I own my story & Spanish OC's. I love my Joaquin, but I love Hellboy more! Sexual suggestions. Just revised, enlarged, improved! Please R and R. Movieverse.
1. Chapter 1 Mallorca

**A/N: **My delighted thanks go to Joelle Hart for her thorough reviews of my chapters, remarks and welcome tips which I've incorporated into new revisions. So readers...in striving to create a character and action driven mission story set on a Spanish island, I profess little knowledge of the language except for bits to establish mood and differences. Hellboy speaks in his usual laconic Jersey and the Spaniards' English is continental and mannered when it must be. Hope you enjoy!

In a relatively private area of a BPRD transport 'copter, Hellboy was adjusting himself into a close-fitting pair of drysuit shorts.

"All tucked in? Tail out?" Liz teased, trying to keep her tone light. She pressed in the sealing flap, tugging up the side zipper over Hellboy's rock hard hip. She watched as he pulled on his black leather pants, then took a seat to reach for his boots.

Knowing he would regret her anxiety, Liz did it anyway, surrounded his broad shoulders with her loving arms.

"Red, I hate that we're stretched so thin, you going without backup."

He tilted up his head, fixing her with a matter-of-fact expression.

"Won't be the last time, Babe." He stroked her cheek fondly, drew her down for a comforting kiss. She helped put on his coat and trailed her fingertips briefly down the front of his shirt.

Resigned, she followed him to the waist of the helicopter where agent Diamond handed him a deployment bag and a sheathed ballistic dive knife.

"Red"... Liz needed to delay his departure just a little longer. "What's the target?"

"Working title is 'Mer/M'. The necropsy will classify." He threw her a little grin as he prepared the rappelling gear. "And then I'm gonna name it after Manning."

Hellboy dropped the bag out the hatch, listened to it hit the flat ground a hundred feet below. Lowering himself out, he took firm hold of the rope with his stone hand, flicked his eyes up to Liz and descended out of sight.

Hellboy's next move took him on a steep clamber down to the rugged Na Caretas shore. A full moon reflected on this rising tide of the Mediterranean Sea. Here, he stripped off to the shorts and strapped the knife to his thigh. He stashed the rest at the foot of the cliff, and hunkered down to watch and wait. His belt pouches were loaded with all the ammunition they could hold. He wished he could see this tiny island of Mallorca, in the sunshine. Or Majorca? Same-sounding name.

He wondered how many divers, fishermen and pleasure sailors his quarry had devoured today, while listening to the regular, mesmerizing slap of the waves. His unwavering stare centered on a gleaming mass now breaching from the depths. The creature raised its catfish-like head, precursor to the long expanse of its back. It huffed spray from its capacious nostrils as it brought forward a thick, squat front leg to gain a claw hold on the beach. Hellboy silently raised his camcorder. Slowly, it emerged. Its basketball sized eyes, set far apart, proved to be in proportion to its body – the span of a city bus. It ponderously drew its bulk out of the sea and turned parallel to the water's edge. Hellboy saw that it compared to the descriptions given by the few witnesses – a salamander type of body. It dragged a tapering tail, half of its entire length, and had the ability to raise itself on four stout legs. Amphibian! And most probably, hermaphroditic.

Inexplicably, it began to return as slowly to its wet world, without depositing its eggs. The phase of most difficulty had begun. Hellboy tossed the camera onto his pile of clothing, and running up close, pumped four Samaritan rounds into its side. Quickly reloading, he plunged in after the retreating mer-demon. Gravely wounded, it seemed quite aware of the attacker entering the domain of its best advantage. Treading water alongside, Hellboy gave it four more in the vicinity of its neck. The sea bloomed black blood around them. Reload. It was all he could do to grip his gun when he took a lash of its tail. Damn! That hurt! Then he knew the crushing power of its toothless, bony jaws when it seized him across the midsection and dived deeper. His pelvis and thighs were clamped tight, his bones groaning, and he was near to being swallowed if the creature could break him in half. He fired, fired, fired into its head, while a great clawed foot made a desperate rake across his back. Hellboy's blood mingled with the black. He broke for the surface, coughing, bleeding, his body aflame with pain. The creature appeared to be breathing its last, drifting with legs and tail drooping. Hellboy hauled himself out of the sea onto the broad back, to ensure its earthly death with as many rounds as needed. Then he could lay back to rest, staring up at that moon. He holstered the Samaritan, tiredly patted the tough leather.

"We did it!" he breathed in exhausted relief, eyes closing.

Hellboy began to feel his demon raft jerk slightly, then again and again. He raised himself to his knees to see several native sharks tearing chunks from the humungous floating feast of flesh. He dug into a pouch for the beacon and drove its arrowhead spike deeply into the demon's ridged back. He addressed the small fleet of approaching fins cleaving waves to join the frenzy. "You guys don't need to die," he rasped raggedly. "Just eat up front and leave me alone!" He dove off and hauled at the tail to beach half of the corpse. It was all he could do. Dropping down by his stash, he choked up the salt water he'd swallowed, jolting afresh his body's aches. He unzipped the dive shorts, shoving them down and off. He felt as sore as he'd ever been, but elated. He pulled on his familiar clothes, and the back of his shirt was soon damp with his seeping blood.

Enough of the cold sea, endless rock, and the stench of a gutted demon – at least he was dry. He moved slower than usual, climbing up the easiest slope of the cliff to a welcome expanse of grass and trees. Now he just needed to lean his weary body against a creature of the earth. He sank down at the base of a formidable tree, fished water bottles and rations out of the bag. The kit supplied pain meds, and he smiled to find that a cigar had been packed just for him.

There were a lot of hours to kill before the transport could return. In the meantime, he hoped he was healing at his usual rate, not knowing how severely his back was laid open. His firearm, ammo and camera, he loaded into the bag and secreted all far back into a high fork of his tree. Stretching out his legs, he lounged against the trunk and placidly smoked.

A cold touch on his cheek startled him out of half-sleep, and he found himself face to face with an enormous dog, the nostrils of its black, wet nose flaring and snuffling.

"Good boy," murmured Hellboy as the dog stared him down. With each exhale, the long-legged mastiff snarled warning from deep within its barrel chest, through drawn-back lips and fine set of pointed teeth.

Hellboy slowly pulled himself to his feet, seeing that the dog had two identical companions.

He sighed, "I don't need you and your friends."

Then he froze to listen to the close approach of vehicles.

"Oh, crap."


	2. Chapter 2 Hola

Disclaimer: Mike Mignola is the creator/owner of Hellboy, Liz Sherman and the BPRD. I mean no copyright infringement. Only OC's, storyline are my inventions.

"Carlos is calling for backup, Maestra. We're five at the site." Joaquin jogged with purpose across the terrace toward his patrol truck.

"Where?" asked the mistress of the manor.

"Beyond the south pasture. For more, Carlos is unintelligible."

"Take me with you, Joaquin!"

"Under protest. Who knows what the morons have cornered? And only if you wear more clothes!" he exclaimed, disapproving of her filmy couture gown.

"You are not my father!"

Accompanied by his lady boss, Joaquin drove hard toward the disturbance. Head of security, he had scarce confidence in his team – personally chosen by Maestra Renata to warm her bed. They were rotated out as she tired of them, replaced so regularly that Joaquin despaired of ever training any to his standard. He restricted the pretty boys to carrying .38 calibre revolvers. Expertly unlocking his own Mac-10 submachinegun from the rack, he placed it across his lap.

Reaching the fleet of circled patrol trucks, he found the night scene lit by spotlights. Braking more carefully than usual, he threw open his door.

"You distract me!" he hissed at Renata, who had chosen that moment to tease her fingers through his silvery hair.

"Stay here!" The glower darkening his rugged features told her he would brook no nonsense.

Joaquin approached the excited young team clustered around a great tree, firearms nervously held forward. Raul spun to greet his chief.

"Lower that!" shouted Joaquin in disgust. "Idiot jackrabbit!"

He rounded the tree with cautious, measured steps, seeing his mastiffs prowling, deeply snarling at the black leather clad legs of - Joaquin's astonished eyes locked on the form of a towering, red-skinned man-creature backed against the tree trunk. The red stranger's arms were down by his sides, his stern, startlingly yellow pupils now trained on Joaquin as the authority over the "jackrabbits".

A deep, resonant voice jumped the team into higher alert as the red one spoke with conviction.

"I'm not going with you!"

"The brute can talk!" taunted Carlos.

With a hitch of irritation, Joaquin realized that Renata was at his elbow. Eyes wide with shock, she hurriedly made the sign of the cross.

"I'm walking this way," declared the stranger, pointing to the open land behind, "Right now! You won't see me again."

"Then go," Joaquin directed. And to the team, "Holster weapons. He hasn't trespassed, this near to the sea."

Hellboy strode several long steps before he heard, "Chief, it's getting away!"

Then Joaquin barking to his undisciplined charges, "Return to base! Now!"

Romeo gave a sharp command. In a heartbeat, one mastiff launched itself high, tearing at the stranger's shoulder, while another sank fangs into the back of his thigh. The third made a leaping attack at Hellboy's throat. Seemingly unaffected by the weight of the giant dogs, his cursing could be heard above the feral snarling, the snapping jaws. His long coat swirled with his frenzy of motion as he held off the mastiffs' renewed attacks with a thick red club, sending two flying with a swipe of his arm. Struck in the belly, the third lay winded and helpless. A bullet ricocheting off the stone club whined in the sultry air.

"Enough!" Joaquin snatched Romeo's revolver away with a wrenching twist.

Lightly armed with a sheathed knife, the red warrior made no move to retaliate. Studying him, Joaquin sensed a kindred professional bearing. He noted his thick chest, massive shoulders, impressive height – and very mystifying, a large column of red stone and wide-fingered hand in place of his right arm. He possessed a long tail which flipped casually. He was also obstinately unafraid.

Renata was creeping forward for a closer look. Joaquin seized her arm and threw her behind him, maintaining his level aim at the stranger.

"Bastardo! You hurt me!" she screamed, humiliated. Her shrill cry spurred the adrenaline-charged young bucks into predatory action to impress their Maestra. Rushing Hellboy, the five could not bend his steely arms into submission. He clamped a hand over his knife sheath as one of his assaulters tried to wrench off his belt. He captured two of them like rag dolls against his sides with his forearms while they squalled under the pressure. Pistol-whipped about his head and face, he bent forcefully at the waist to fling off two attackers clinging around his neck. Seeing a balled fist aimed for his face, Hellboy lowered his head, raising a scream from Romeo as his hand split open on an unyielding horn stub. The team lay gasping on the ground at his feet.

The powerful stranger's forthright golden eyes met the glow of Renata's fascination.

"No mas!" she fairly pleaded, seeing that none of her team was much injured.

"Porn putos!" Joaquin exploded, "You make me sick! You want to make your fame!"-

Interrupted curtly by Renata, "Don't swear at my beautiful boys!"

Hellboy silently calculated how far out he'd need to jump from the beach cliff to land in deep water. First, he had to get there. Being here with this yelling, scattered, quarrelling, crazy bunch was stretching his patience past the limit.

Now the woman screeched, grabbed a revolver from Julio, and concluded her argument with Joaquin by firing off a round, inches from his hip. His eyes blazed, but he held his ground.

Distraction. Hellboy turned to run with all he had. Right now, the night's worth of beatings were trouble as he felt copious blood pouring down into his eyes. More was the gunfire coming his way. He felt a hit at his lower back. The shot was foiled by the sway of his coat and the width of his belt. He halted to face the group stalking him in fan formation. Breaking to the front was Raul, flushed with the chase.

"You broke Romeo's hand, ugly devil man!" He took shaky aim. "How will you like it when I shoot pieces off you?!"

Joaquin moved swiftly behind Raul, savagely kicking the back of his knee. As quickly as he fell, the chief seized his revolver. He glared hatred at his abysmal team and punctuated his ire with a deafening volley of skyward fire.

Renata would not be denied her share of the excitement.

"What are you doing here?" she asked the resolute red man.

"I was waiting for my people, to go home." The voice was low, thrilling.

"Ones like you?"

"Like you."

"And where is home?"

"America."

Renata digested the surprising answer for a moment.

"You have a name?"

"Red. Just Red."

"Would you harm any of us?" She tilted her head flirtatiously.

"I didn't want to, but you saw - hey, find out how the dogs are doing. I don't like hurting animals," was his unexpected reply.

"I'll bring you to my house," she said brightly.

Joaquin gritted, "No, Maestra!"

"No," echoed Hellboy.

"They caused your injuries," she continued, indicating her team. "No one can say hospitality is lacking in Llucmajor. I have a medical staff to treat you."

"No, thanks – M'am."

"If not," she spoke as though deep in thought, "I believe I should turn you over to the military. They'll know what to do with you."

Joaquin exhaled audibly. Hellboy envisioned a fate worse than capture.

To the men, she announced, "He's given his word. He's peaceful." Renata swirled her slit skirts as she modelled her voluptuous figure by Joaquin's truck. "Now bring him."

Joaquin closed with Hellboy, tightly jamming the muzzle of his firearm into his sternum.

"I've heard of you, Hell-man," he whispered, biting off each word with menace as his free hand made search of his unintended captive. "Whatever you do, I am watching." The ballistic knife he seized was the red man's only weapon.

Covered by the chief, Hellboy climbed into the truck box. Joaquin made room for second guard Sergio. Continuing to clear blood from his eyes, Hellboy scanned what he could of the night scenery. Coolly, he retrieved the cigar stub from a pocket and lit the end, glancing over at Sergio with a quirk of amusement. He figured that this young man as chosen by Joaquin to be his second, must be the best of a bad lot. Tensing with every movement of the giant who refused to show fear, Sergio wisely kept his silence. It struck him funny, the mess of the security team. Except for the chief. Because he was so tired and beat down, Hellboy gave in to laughing uncontrollably until he was played out. Though his watch was unwavering, Joaquin had to bite his lip.

There seemed to be no end of pastures, livestock, vineyards, playing fields and courts, manicured gardens, fountains, stables and pools on the way to the main house which proved to be as grand as a small palace. Hellboy was let out at a sprawling courtyard, where Renata beckoned him to follow her. Joaquin blocked her way.

"This is not a new pet! Your many diversions are here of free will! Desecrating yourself"-

Renata angrily pushed him.

"Even you, Joaquin, can't speak to me this way! Get out of my sight!"

Hellboy followed her without enthusiasm through the majestic foyer to a well-appointed medical suite.

"Here is your patient," she announced to the gaping staff, "I'll show you where he is hurt."

Renata held her breath, watching him drop his bloodied coat and peel off his shredded tight shirt.

"No drugs," he told the attendants. "Trust issues."

She audibly cooed at the sight of his splendidly muscled torso. While the medics cleansed and bandaged his wounds, she moved about him, gliding her palms in wonderment along his strong neck, his broad slashed back and jutting chest. As he raised his hand to a gash at his brow, his biceps formed a high, hard bulge that she cupped and caressed, sighing with dreamy joy.

"This?" she asked, exploring his stone arm.

"Birthmark."

It was almost worth humouring her to have so much crusted blood and clinging salt bathed off.

"You're like my prize fighting bulls," she purred, "all muscles, scars."

He pulled back as she reached to touch his shorn-off horns. Hellboy considered that nothing good would come of being admired this way. Seductively smiling up at him, she hooked her bejewelled fingers into the waist of his black leather pants, stalled by the ever-present belt.

"Now your leg," she breathed, letting her hand slip too low.

"No, Ma'm." His tone was final as he slid off the medic's table. He pulled on his coat, pushing the ruined shirt into a pocket. "But I AM pretty hungry."

"Well, then," she said sweetly, "come this way."

Surveying the dim corridors, he counted ceiling-mounted cameras. The banished Joaquin had stationed himself at the monitors, reflecting on the rootless life of his Maestra. Every man must die of love for her and her body, or she was left desolate. Stunningly glamourous, surgically enhanced to within an inch of her life, she presented herself as the loosest of women. Moderately intelligent, she could have done significant works with her wealth. In time, she would age beyond her poor aspirations, and he would still be here to care...

He watched her strolling ahead of the hell-creature, employing her hip-swaying posture, her undulations perfected with frequent mirror practice. She swept up her wealth of perfumed black hair, then let it escape her hands to cascade down her back. She was altogether unaware that her guest was absorbed in admiring the security features.

"Must you wear that coat?" she implored with a little pout.

"Yeah."

"But you should uncover yourself . You are the most magnificently masculine thing I've ever seen."

"Thing," he repeated. A corner of his mouth curved up at the irony of her appraisal, replaced by a wince. Renata tried to soothe his bruised face, but he straightened away from her. She huffed out a breath, piqued that she could evoke no desired response from him.

"You would be polite to speak to me, since I'm your superior," she asserted.

"You say!"

"And what is your meaning?"

"It means you don't deserve an answer, and this is getting to be a long walk!"

Joaquin listened as she chattered to the hell-man about her patronage of the island's symphony orchestra, which did serve to supply additional male companions, all of whom must address her as Maestra. The chief allowed himself a chuckle at this affectation. It remained no effort to indulge her with her self-chosen title.

Renata halted her walk of exhibition, spun on her stiletto heels to collide with Hellboy, and swiftly imposed her arms inside his coat. Hugging her cheek and bosom against his bare chest, she lingered her palms across his oblique muscles to his lower back, questing downward inside his waistband. He stood immoveable and unimpressed.

"What makes you think you can feel me up?!" he demanded in annoyance.

"You should want to touch me, and more. Get rid of this," she insisted petulantly. "It's in my way!"

He stayed her hands from pulling at his belt, from grasping at the crucifix swaying across his thigh. It was the last conceit he would bear from her.

"Bye, lady," he said sharply, "I'm leaving to get my ride!"

"You're rude and ungrateful!" she chastised hotly. "Outside! Let me show you this!"

Outside. Finally. Hellboy was in no mood to match her languid pace, but he had no other guide. Reaching the terrace, Renata pointed to a small statue.

"Take this and throw it, as high as you can." She smugly crossed her arms.

Welcoming a chance to vent frustration, he hurled the figure and saw the stone utterly disintegrate into dust at the center of a small explosion, brilliant against the night sky.

"And so goes your beautiful body if you touch my security shield," Renata boasted. "You can't guess the perimeter, so come entertain me. I want to discover you."

She found only cold determination in his other-worldly eyes. Sidling against him, she purred,

"I'm intrigued to know what you'll do to escape. I'll keep you as long as I wish."

This was a really, really bad development...

For the last time, he spat, "Get off me!", then strode angrily back inside and chose a corridor to follow away from her. Anywhere away from her.


	3. Chapter 3 Simpatico

Disclaimer: Hellboy, Liz Sherman and the BPRD are creations of and copyrighted by Mike Mignola. My story is for fan enjoyment only. Thanks to my reviewers!

_

Joaquin set down his headphones, picked up his weapon, locked the monitor room on his way out.

Hellboy agitatedly wandered the labyrinth of corridors. He installed his earpiece, not sure that his locator still lived. He couldn't let the helicopter come into contact with the killing shield. He was lost. In another minute, more lost. A man suddenly appeared silhouetted at the end of his corridor, a body on full alert. Hellboy stood with his open hands shoulder high, ready to meet the figure in tactical gear sauntering toward him with Mac-10 raised.

"Joaquin!" Hellboy whispered harshly, "Get me out of here!"

Warily, Joaquin stopped six paces away to assess.

"And where does it please you to go, Hellboy?" The chief evinced a satisfaction of secrets now opened to him.

"Two pilots and others will die if they fly into the shield around this property!"

Hellboy's urgency sounded genuine enough. He showed Joaquin his locator.

"They'll home in on me with this. I tried, but it could be blocked..."

"And you must get beyond before they come," divined Joaquin.

"Can you-?"

"I'll disable a path through it, take you out." The chief's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Renata gives away our secrets without fail." His gesture directed Hellboy to walk ahead of him. "She's complained about you bitterly. Best for you to be gone as soon as possible."

"The other guys?" Hellboy wanted to know.

"All presently occupied with her. I'm alone. Do NOT underestimate me."

Hellboy was taking a bigger liking to the manner of the chief.

Unlocking a wall-mounted keypad by a set of steel doors, Joaquin entered a series of codes to free them in secret from the house.

Outside, Hellboy intently searched the night sky and listened, relieved to ascertain only a vast spread of stars and nature's music. Joaquin pointed to the box of his truck. "I go to the stables for a better vehicle. Stay down."

Soon, the chief was rumbling over the vast grounds in a humvee beside his oversized passenger.

"Man to man, we haven't spoken," observed Joaquin, "What do you do in this world?"

"My job – I hunt down supernatural threats, kill what I have to."

Joaquin considered. "You're well suited. Why are you – not one of those threats?"

"Long story," shrugged Hellboy. "I was raised with humans, always lived with them."

"Red." It took an awkward interval for the chief to form his question. "Is there something I should know, ah – were you hunting some – unholy creature on our island?"

"I found out it can live in both sea and on land, still need to investigate why it came here to breed, but it didn't get the chance. I went in to bait it off this beach, nothing but rocks and bigger rocks. It tried to drown me. I shot it – a lot."

"You shot – what?"

"A mer-demon of bodacious proportions with appetites to match."

Joaquin's hands tensed hard on the steering wheel. "The media reports!" he exclaimed, "The missing persons, claims of a monstrous, unnatural predator! You came to find this..." He shot a look of awed understanding at his passenger. "It existed. It killed."

Hellboy nodded.

Joaquin deliberated, his mouth in a tight line. "Shall you prefer that I and my household have never seen you?"

"Makes my life easier," Hellboy agreed, imagining the evaporation of Tom Manning's certain expected freakout.

"I will see it through," promised Joaquin.

"I'm a believer," grinned Hellboy.

Adopting a lighter mood, Joaquin wanted to know more. "I must ask how you arrived, and I won't be surprised if you swam from Algiers."

The companionable laugh they shared cemented their new ease.

"The company bird dropped me. I had twelve hours to make the kill."

"To see a mer-demon," Joaquin mused out loud.

"Little scraps could wash up on the beach. Sorry."

Joaquin shook his head, pondering this tale on the strangest day of his life.

"You're in charge of all this," Hellboy realized, as they passed through the expansive features of the estate for the second time.

"I am. I'm thankful that so few of my staff have, how do you say? Shit for brains? It was your bad luck to meet us tonight. Did you try your best to escape?"

"You mean, did I take you seriously? No, and yes, depending on how the action went down." Hellboy sat up straighter. "Hey, I'm hard to kill, but your toy there could put serious holes in me. Mostly, I was hoping for somethin' from the kitchen. Then I saw your shield, lost my appetite."

"Comedian," accused Joaquin with a restrained chuckle. He fell silent, then went on, "Most published knowledge of you is useless conjecture. But I've satisfied myself of your stated intentions – and your honour." Joaquin handed Hellboy the Mac-10, saying, "Lock it in the rack."

It was done. An unspoken question hung in the air. The chief turned from his concentration on the road for an instant. "I can read a man."

Joaquin next said thoughtfully, "Renata's whim – to seduce a singular kind of male."

"Nobody pushes me around." Hellboy was definite on that. "She's creepy. Hmm- what would happen if she caught us?"

"She would want you shot, and me as well, on impulse, but," he displayed a conspiratorial grin, "I have every firearm."

"What makes you stay?!" asked Hellboy, incredulous. "Ouch, sorry! Don't mean to pry..."

"A sacred trust. I've been her bodyguard since she was orphaned at fifteen. I can't – live without her."

"You risk yourself to help me."

Joaquin spoke with brash pleasure. "Where is the spice in life without risk?" Then drifting into a wistful murmur, "My heiress – is very spoiled, promiscuous, often dreadfully wrong and cruel. She relies on me, after all, to make things right."

His passenger regarded him, processing what it must be like to accept that life.

Suddenly, Hellboy exclaimed, "I have a signal!"

"BPRD 4 to Red, respond!" Liz' voice, quavering with fear – he bowed his head, prayed swift, silent thanks.

"Red on the ground, Babe. Follow the headlights. Land when I say."

Pilot Lon took over. "Red, will do."

"We're well beyond the perimeter," informed Joaquin. "Your beach of rocks. Take these co-ordinates for the shield. Your people must log them – and avoid."

Joaquin stepped down from the humvee. His upturned face was alive with exhilaration, watching the approach of the helicopter.

Hellboy stretched up to retrieve the deployment bag from his tree's place of concealment and returned to his side.

"Red, you are for real!" he shouted over the beat of tandem rotors. "I thank you for the adventure, for my own short escape!"

Hellboy came close, concerned and grateful. "You'll be all right?"

"In every way. Renata is my sweet prison for life. I am a protector, and so are you."

In the circle of the spotlight, Hellboy offered his right hand to the worthy man, who placed into it the ballistic knife, and grasped the stone forearm in farewell.

The cargo bay door lowered to the ground. Down the ramp hurried a dark-haired young woman.

"Red!" was her happy cry. As he walked to the helicopter, she sprinted to throw her arms around his neck. Hellboy lifted her to receive her kiss.

Boarding the humvee, Joaquin smiled to himself.

"That, too, is real."


End file.
